A Heavy, Bloodstained Axe
by MeAmJeni
Summary: A room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls built of...objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants... There were...books...winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees...chipped bottles of congealed potions...hats, jewels, cloaks...and a heavy, bloodstained axe. One-Shot. I think.


**Disclaim, disclaim! Anything you recognize and several things you maybe don't, belong to JKR!**

**Also, yes, I AM still working on my Blaise sequel. I know it's taking forever. Sorry!**

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The evening sun was warm on John Dawlish's head as he and his best mate, Rutherford Poke, made their way across the Hogwarts grounds towards the Forbidden Forest.

"We really shouldn't be doing this, you know," Rutherford commented.

John shrugged. "You hate Macnair and so do I."

Rutherford scowled. "He killed my owl. He did it on purpose."

"I know." John's face was set, his stride purposeful. He was tall for sixteen years, with wiry dark hair cut short and very light blue-grey eyes. He had a reputation for not being very forgiving and, to go with it, the brains and ability to make life uncomfortable for those people with whom he had a problem.

His friend was six months younger, light-haired and hazel-eyed, and his youthful good looks were quite a contrast with John's rougher, less pleasant appearance. Rutherford was more cheerful, friendlier, and the bond between the two so different mystified most who bothered to notice it.

"I can't believe him," Rutherford muttered as they reached the trees. "He loves killing things-why does he bother keep the Crup? Is he fattening it for slaughter?"

"I don't know," John replied calmly. "But he loves it."

"I hope so," Rutherford said, an unusually ugly look on his face.

John stopped by a tall tree, looking up into it. "This'll do. Need a leg up?"

Rutherford stared up too. "Yeah, all right."

John dropped the heavy axe he had been carrying and accordingly gave Rutherford a leg up. Once the younger boy was in the tree he handed up the axe before following. They settled themselves on the lower branches, the axe in John's hand.

After several silent minutes, Rutherford looked over at John, who was watching the path below with a look that was a mixture of cold fury and determination. Rutherford started to say something, and then stopped.

"What?" John asked shortly, not looking up.

Rutherford hesitated. "Why are you so-why d'you hate Macnair so much?"

John stared at the path below, for a moment not seeing it, but instead the face of pretty blonde girl. Only for the merest half-second did he consider sharing the story with Rutherford-how his sister Helen would never be the same because of Walden Macnair's destructive impulses. But then he shook his head a little, shaking away both the memory and the idea of sharing it.

Rutherford saw it and knew he would not get an answer. Strong might have been the bond between the two boys, but there was much they did not speak about.

"Shh!" John hissed suddenly, tensing.

Footsteps were coming down the path, and they heard a sharp bark. John tightened his grip on the heavy axe.

"Shut up," growled a voice.

And then a dog which strongly resembled a Jack Russell Terrier came bounding into sight.

"Now-" Rutherford breathed. And then, the next second-"No!"

This word was clearly audible, but it did not matter-for John had dropped the axe, just as a girl ran directly underneath the tree, grabbing the dog. The axe fell with horrible precision, and buried itself in her shoulder. She screamed, and Walden Macnair came running. He stared at the axe for one long moment before looking upwards, pulling out his wand as he did so. John, never a quick reactor, was frozen, staring at the bleeding girl crumpled on the ground.

"STUPEFY!" Rutherford shouted before Macnair had properly seen them.

Paying no attention to John's immobile form next to him, he leaped from the tree and hit the ground hard, feeling his leg crumple under him. But no time for that-he hurried to the girl's side. She was unconscious, blood pouring from her shoulder and soaking the ground. Rutherford clenched his jaw and, with a tremendous effort, pulled the axe out of the girl's flesh. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling as though he might throw up. But he was Rutherford Poke and this was at least partly his fault, and by Merlin he would not let this girl die. So he turned back again, drawing his wand, and pointed it at her shoulder.

_Lucky I want to be a Healer_, he thought distantly as he did his best to stop the bleeding. But the thought only made him feel worse-how could he have gone along with this in the first place? He was meant to be _Healer_, because he wanted to fix people, not injure them. True, they hadn't meant to hurt the girl, hadn't even known she was there, but still they _had_ intended to kill the dog-which, come to think of it, where was the animal?

Rutherford looked around, but it had gone. John was descending from the tree, though, and Rutherford wasn't sorry to see him.

"We've got to get her up to the hospital wing," Rutherford said quickly.

John stared down at the girl. "Who is she?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," Rutherford answered impatiently. "But she's lost too much blood already-"

"They'll expel me for this," John said, still staring at her. "I didn't mean to do it!" He was looking at Rutherford now, his voice suddenly urgent, though still quiet. "I didn't mean to do it and I am _not_ going to leave Hogwarts for the sake of Macnair's girlfriend."

"What?" What the consequences might be had not occurred to Rutherford; he was too focused on the girl and her injury.

But John had a glint of desperation in his eyes. "I'm not leaving Hogwarts for Macnair, do you hear me?! We've got to get rid of the axe-they can blame Macnair, seems like the sort of thing he would do anyway…"

"Blame Macnair? But-"

"Which he might use an axe but-no! I'll get the axe out of here. You can take her up to the hospital wing and tell them-tell them you came upon her and Macnair and you stunned him to save her. For Merlin's sake, Rutherford, I can't be expelled!" John's voice was a mixture of angry determination and pleading.

Rutherford hesitated. "It was an accident," he said. "Maybe they wouldn't-I don't want to lie about this, John."

"They'd expel me, you know they would! Bloody hell, I dropped an axe into a girl! I deserve expulsion but Merlin knows I didn't mean to do it-I never would've. I _can't_ be expelled!"

Rutherford was still kneeling by the girl's side, but he slowly stood now. "It's not right to blame anyone for something like this-not even Macnair. It's too big. They would expel him."

"I don't _care_! It's him or me-would you choose _Macnair_ over your best mate?"

Rutherford took a step back, a frown creasing his forehead. "You really don't care about anything except yourself not getting expelled, do you," he marveled. "I never would've believed…" He hesitated, his eyes moving from John, to the girl, to Macnair. "All right," he said finally, disgust written on his features now. "All right. I'll do what you asked this time, but this-this is it. We're not mates anymore, you hear me? I'm not-like that. I can't believe I'm doing this, but we've _been_ mates and I can't forget that, so for that…I'll do it. Just this once. Never again. I…" He shook his head, looking revolted at his own words. "This is it." He turned back to the girl, giving John a clear view of his back.

John hesitated, seemed about to speak, to take back his words, but then his face hardened. He looked around, grabbed the axe, and hid it under his cloak. All the way up to the castle, and then up to where he knew there was a room, a room full of forbidden things which only came into being when called upon, which he had once discovered in a pinch, which as far as he knew Rutherford did not know about. Three times he paced the seventh floor corridor, thinking _I need the room of forbidden things, I need a safe place to hide the axe, I need the room of forbidden things, I need somewhere it won't be found_… And there it was. He flung open the door and looked around, ran a little along one of the alleyways, and pushed the axe into one of the piles of rubbish. Surely, surely, amid the detritus of centuries no one would find the axe, or if they did, connect it with him. It was just another forbidden object, hidden in this room…a heavy, bloodstained axe…

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**Author's Note: Ahm well... I'm not quite sure where this came from. Well, it's obvious where my inspiration came from; I was reading the Half-Blood Prince today and the end of that paragraph clunked me on the head. But this story isn't precisely what I expected it to be, or wanted it to be. I feel dissatisfied with it. So please, please review!**


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